


if i told you

by kattyshack



Series: snowflakes [16]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Confessions, Drabble, Dreams, F/M, Fluff, Mild Sexual Content, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 20:09:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14755490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattyshack/pseuds/kattyshack
Summary: prompt fill (@goodqueenalys; repost from tumblr): dialogue prompt: “i dreamt about you last night” + “you can tell me anything”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AliceInNeverNeverLand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceInNeverNeverLand/gifts).



Jon should have known that all his fidgeting would get Sansa’s attention. It’s his _tell_ , after all — adjusting his specs, pushing a hand through his curls, drumming his fingers on his thigh or the table or the back of the couch or, if all else fails, tapping them together until he catches himself and curls them into fists just to stop all the nervous twitching.

Too late for that now, as Sansa’s caught him and she wants to know what’s wrong. Usually he’d tell her, but…

Well, not this time.

“Go on,” she urges when he continues to shrug it off as less important than it is (and he _knows_ that it is). “You can tell me anything, you know that, don’t you?”

Jon looks at her, sat next to him on the couch, and begs with his gaze alone for her to _please_ just drop it. Because, no, he can’t quite tell her _anything_. _Most_ things. But not all of it, and certainly not this, because if he told her _this_ then he’d have to tell her all of it, too; or else it would simply tumble off the tip of his tongue where it always sits, where it needs to stay.

“Sansa, I —”

But he doesn’t know where to take the argument from there. Because even if he told the truth, that _I can’t tell you_ , that would beg the question _why?_ and then he’s right back where he’s trying not to be — forced to tell her not just anything, but _everything_.

Now Sansa’s looking at him so sweetly, so concernedly, so very imploringly, that Jon’s resolve — already weak when it comes to all things Sansa — crumbles completely, and he finds himself saying what he’d been trying not to.

“I dreamt about you last night.”

“Oh?” She smiles, a bit confused since she’s not in Jon’s head, which would immediately settle her confusion because then she would know what’s going on his mind whenever he thinks of her (a great big neon sign proclaiming _I LOVE YOU_ that he just can’t switch off). “Well that’s hardly anything, Jon, what’s got you so nervous about it?”

Maybe he’s just weak or tired or stupid or simply sick of hiding it, but Jon can’t bear to hear Sansa say that the way he thinks about her is “hardly anything” — because it’s _something_ , it’s always been something and it’s always been her.

“It’s the _way_ I was dreaming about you,” Jon tells her before he can second-guess it again. He swallows, hard, and adjusts his specs. “That’s what’s got me nervous.”

It’s not the clearest he could have been, but clarity washes over Sansa all the same.

She laughs. “Oh, you pervert.”

He grins, still nervous but pleased that she seems to be taking this in stride. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“I don’t, do I?” Sansa’s brow arches slightly, in a sort of whispered challenge that sets Jon’s nerve endings aflame. “You want to tell me more about it?”

 _Oh, fuck me, yes I do_ , Jon thinks, and it’s only when Sansa laughs again that he realizes he’s said it out loud.

He doesn’t mind it, though, not when Sansa looks so happy to hear it. He’ll tell her all sorts of things — _anything_ , _everything_ , nothing but the truth in all of it — if it makes her smile at him like that.

“Come on, then.” Jon interlaces his fidgety fingers with her steady ones, and tugs her up from the couch. “If you really want to hear all the things I haven’t told you, there’s a lot I’ve got to catch you up on.”

“And I’m all ears,” Sansa promises, and she squeezes his fingers to soothe the nervous twitch that started it all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: i almost called this chapter “this is what dreams are made of” but i could not in good conscience use the lizzie mcguire movie as a prop for my smutty fanfic, so... “chapter 2” it is.
> 
> since i wanted to keep this in the whole *drabble* spirit, i tried a different sort of narrative approach than usual. the dirty stuff’s still alive and well, ofc, so i hope you enjoy!

Step-by-step, Jon walks Sansa through his dream. She did, after all, _insist_ , and he’s not the sort of man to keep his lady waiting.

And she _is_ now — _his_ , so Jon has a bit of lost time to make up for and all the time in the world to promise her thereafter.

Might as well start now.

No time like the present.

Best begin.

_First..._

“I kissed you like this.”

He leans in, slow, and drags slightly-parted lips over her own. One sweep across... then two... three... and their mouths open in tandem, tongues slipping past seeking lips to taste what lies beyond.

Jon brushes a feather-light touch against her jaw, and Sansa’s fingers curl into his shirtfront.

_Then..._

“I touched you like this.”

His hand trails down and down and down, teasing between the hem of her shirt and the band of her shorts. Slowly slowly _slowly_ , he inches the hem up up _up_... His breath hitches with every touch, and her stomach muscles clench in response.

Sansa’s hips shift beneath his, and Jon shoves his hand between her thighs when she rubs them together.

_Because after that..._

“I touched you like _this_.”

Insistent fingers press and rub against her cunt, then dip inside to explore the heat he’d inspired with words and touch and the rough scratch of his stubble on her skin. Long, languid kisses are planted down her neck, lazy but determined as he swirls his tongue over these heretofore unknown-to-him curves:

Her jaw, her throat, collarbone and shoulders that are bared to him when he slips the straps of her camisole down down _down_ —

_Then..._

“I used my mouth on you, pretty girl, just like this.”

His mouth joins his fingers; just as sure — no more twitching to be found, his nerves vanished as soon as Sansa’s lips molded to his — steady, coaxing, urging, _demanding_. He wants to make her come, wants to taste her when she does.

His free hand reaches for every curve, every smooth expanse of skin, while his tongue dives and his fingers curl and he murmurs, over and over and over again —

“Come on, Sansa, wanna make you come...”

Her hips arch and he buries himself deeper between her legs.

_Then then then —_

“Make those pretty noises for me, sweetheart, let me hear you...”

_After that..._

“Well.” Jon clears his throat, voice a well-satisfied rasp as he catches his breath beside her. “That’s about the time I woke up.”

“What?” Sansa blinks at him, eyes still over-bright as she looks at him as though he’d hung the moon (and he _would_ , if it were for her). “You’re joking.”

He shakes his head, only stopping to toss her a grin. “Not.”

“You’re something else, aren’t you?”

“Watch it, you’ll go and give me an uncommonly fat head if you keep talking to me like that.”

Jon slips a hand across her stomach to lace their fingers together. Sansa gives his another squeeze, just like she did when he led her to the bedroom and had his wicked way with her.

“I think you’ve earned it.”

“What, the right to a fat head?”

“Mmhmm,” she hums, and looks rather pleased with herself for it.

Jon hums in return, and pulls her hand to his lips for a kiss... then another... and another... He takes his time with Sansa’s fingertips, her knuckles, her palm, and the inside of her wrist where her pulse skips when he levels his gaze with hers.

“I fancy you, d’you know that?”

“I’d begun to think so.” She gives him a wink. “But I thought perhaps I was only projecting.”

He flattens her palm against his mouth, grinning against it as he speaks into it, “Oh, so you fancy me too, then?”

“I do, very much.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Jon rolls to his side, all the better to lean in for another, proper kiss, when Sansa stays him with a hand to his chest — just for a moment, a beat, a breath, only long enough to tell him —

“I dreamt of you every night, too.”

He closes his eyes — he breathes deep, too, to regulate the sudden _skip-skip-boom!_ of his heart, but it only intensifies when he inhales the citrus-sweetness snap of Sansa’s perfume, and in the end he wouldn’t have it any other way — and he murmurs against her lips:

“ _Thank you_ , Sansa, for telling me.”

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: if you want a drabble part 2 in which things jon tells sansa aaaaaall about his dream + a physical demonstration (IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN *nudge nudge wink wink*), i accept bribes in the form of comments and cash, no personal checks, ty
> 
> p.s. unrelated, but since i’m posting a lot today i thought i’d give you all a heads-up: ignore the recent fic -winter proposals- in the jon/sansa tag. it’s a j/d fic that was specifically reposted to irritate j/s shippers (comment moderation is on, so don’t bother with it at all). you can find the original psa + screenshots on tumblr


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